Because It's Wrong
by Shmily
Summary: I’m fairly certain I don’t love him. No. It’s more of a fascination. I’d love to know what makes him tick…what urges him to do the things he does…to say the things he says. I’ve berated myself constantly too many times to count even, there isn’t any way t


**_Because It's Wrong_**

**Disclaimer: Jo Rowling is figgin' awesome and created the characters, I just get to use them as my play things smirks**

**A/N: This piece acts as sort of a companion piece to Father's Minion, it should be read, considered, but not pondered over for too long when refrencing back the the aforementioned story. Enjoy.

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I'm fairly certain I don't love him. No. It's more of a fascination. I'd love to know what makes him tick…what urges him to do the things he does…to say the things he says. I've berated myself constantly; too many times to count even, there isn't any way to explain my deranged fascination. I must be sick, or barmy, mental at the very least, but I'm intrigued.

It all started on the train. I hadn't forgotten the Bat-Bogey Hex I'd given him, and apparently neither had he. He didn't say anything, he just stared in silence; the silence that thickens the air around you; the kind that makes it hard to breathe; his silence unnerved me. It might have been because he hadn't made some silly little comment about my family's financial status, or because he hadn't sneered. I knew he changed, because he just stared.

Lately, I've found I can't do anything but stare at him. My eyes are drawn to him like the kippleduffs are drawn to the curtains in the Grimmuald Place. I can sense his presence now; it's like a feeling in my fingers, and my eye starts to twitch and I know I'll lose control if I don't steal a glance, just one swift look in his direction. The most ironic part though, is that he's staring at me in return, the same no emotion steely stare. Bloody hell…I don't know what's wrong with me; it's like an obsession, or the start of one.

I've found myself having dreams of an erotic sort; I berate myself over and over. I think Hermione knows something is up, she's constantly asking me if I "ran into Malfoy today" or "did he say something Ginny?" I wish he'd say something, anything…even if it is about my hand-me-downs, or my old long forgotten crush on Harry Potter. I wish he'd do anything but the staring that he's been doing, when he rakes his eyes up and down my body and makes me feel like I want him to rid me of my clothes and make my exotic dreams reality.

I _don't_ think I like him because he's suave or debonair. I _don't_ think I like him because he's nasty and infuriating. I'm _not_ drawn to him because of his perfect platinum hair. I'm _not_ in love with the man he could be if he only changes. I'm _not_ obsessed because I think I can 'convert' him. I like him because he's forbidden, he's everything I should hate and do hate. Because it's wrong.

XxX

I see red everywhere nowadays—blast that stupid color. She's everywhere I think, taunting me on purpose with her perfect curves and her luscious body and—bloody hell. Every time I think about her I have to stop because she excites me and I hate it.

I'm fairly certain I don't love her; it's pure lust…fueled by her spark, she's fire and I'm drawn to her. She's beauty and elegance, though one might not be able to see beyond the grime and dirt of her social standing.

I know I get under her skin. I can tell in the way she looks at me, she's terrified of me and I love it. She wants to know why I don't tease her family and friends anymore; she wants to know why I'll pass her in the corridor without some childish remark. I've grown weary of the old taunting games; I've learned the only way to unnerve people is through the power of a stare. It's amazing how simple one stare can get you under peoples' skin. Potter is going out of his mind because I won't taunt him anymore. I suppose I'm grateful for the fact because it means he's not paying attention to her. She's luminous…I want her…I want to feel her…to taste her…to—sweet Merlin I really need to get a hold of myself.

She sways her hips and it's innocent and provocative in the same light, it all depends on the person captivated by her hips. Who wouldn't be captivated by her hips, the way they accent her better assets. When she moves, when she speaks, when she just sits pensively in the library; I can't help but notice her.

I want her, which happens to be the one thing I know to be true. Not because I love her. I definitely _wouldn't_ switch sides in this war for her. I absolutely _wouldn't_ let people know that I want her. I'm fascinated by her; _not_ because she's sweet and innocent, but saucy and swift at the same time—no. I like her because she's forbidden, she's everything I should hate and do hate. Because it's wrong.

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**A/N: Well...what'd you think? And if you have flames please make them valid, but be ready for response because I don't take slander on my work lightly unless I agree fully with what you are addressing. Thank you.**


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